Reflections on a House Fire
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: Short one-shot...One of the brothers has a moment to ponder the scene of a fire.


_This is based on an actual event across the street from my house this past Sunday night. I checked my smoke detector afterward…_

 _I didn't end up picking a character…I think this could be any one of the brothers, so use your imagination!_

 _I don't own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

House fires are the worst. This particular house was divided into apartments, and eighteen people – including five children – are now homeless, on a cold winter night. Oh, sure, there are agencies who will step in and help them until they can find somewhere else to live…but it will still be a hard transition.

I stand in the midst of a small crowd, watching the firefighters work. Right now they're on a ladder truck, using a chainsaw to ventilate the roof. I'm itching to help, but there are a number of reasons I can't – for example, I'm a civilian right now, and a rich Tracy isn't supposed to know how to work firefighting equipment.

Standing back and watching the scene does allow me to make some observations I don't normally have time for, though.

It's interesting to note the dynamics of the crowd that has gathered to watch the fire. It's a wide-ranging variety of people, almost none of whom would normally be standing on a sidewalk late at night in the middle of January. The fire, with its accompanying cacophony of sounds and flurry of lights, has drawn them in. They carry on a chit-chatting sort of conversation that flows through the group in little waves – a rumor here, a fact there, a murmur of sympathy for the residents of the building – even as all eyes remain fastened on the flames beginning to poke a tentative finger out through the top of a dormer window.

Some people approach the scene at a slow walk, cautious, embarrassed to be caught gawking. Others stride briskly, cheerful, as if they're on their way to see some sort of entertainment.

One man sprints closer, and is intercepted by a police officer – his voice is high, panicked. His cat is in the building, he says. He tries to break free and make a run for the burning building, but the officer restrains him and pulls him off to the side.

Another fire truck has arrived; the red of their flashing lights mingles with the blue lights of a nearby police car to send splashes of purple against the cloud of smoke billowing from the burning building. The newcomers consult with the Fire Chief, then pull around to approach the building from a different angle so they can set up their ladder to help tackle the flames in the attic.

I admire the efficiency of the well-trained men. Sure, International Rescue could do it faster, but it's not like we're competing with the small, local Fire Departments. We have the same goal, after all – we both want to help people, and we're both willing to put our own lives on the line to do so. I like to think that we complement one another.

The flames are shooting up in several locations now. Studying the old building and the pattern of the fire, I guess that it's probably an electrical fire, started by faulty wiring, or perhaps by mice chewing on the wires. It probably started in the attic, and spread slowly for a while before anyone noticed it. I frown – the fire has a good foothold, which means that the house is likely a total loss. Oh, sure, the firefighters will be able to stop it eventually, but not without ripping out walls and ceilings and flooding the building with water.

As I turn to leave, I see a disaster assistance crew arriving on the scene. It occurs to me that International Rescue is really only a small part of a great network of people spread across the globe who are dedicated to helping those in trouble.

I leave the scene with an odd mix of feelings – for one thing, it's strange to be leaving without having done a single thing to help anyone. I'm sad for the people who have lost their home. I'm also proud of those firefighters, and grateful for the disaster assistance agency.

One last thing catches my eye as I'm walking away – a firefighter steps out of the house, something furry cradled in his arms. He approaches a dejected figure standing near the police officer, and a cry of joy sounds over the babble of the scene as the man is reunited with his cat.

Yes, house fires are the worst…but no lives have been lost, and that's the most important thing.


End file.
